Page 90 of Wanted

“We’re working on it,” Mark assures me before walking away with the phone pressed to his ear, probably to call Jackson.

Thinking of Stella wounded and confused, in the hands of whoever tried to kill me has my blood running cold. This is new to me and I can’t describe it properly. I hope that whoever has given me a second chance has plans to do the same with my wife.

I can’t lose her. How could I live in this world knowing that she’s not beside me?

I drop onto the loveseat in the small living room, with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I find the gold band that the asshole put on her finger and a legal pad on the coffee table. Soon, Stella’s notes in the notebook catch my attention.

Stella drew a map of a route that I will follow as soon as the sun rises, and I plan to speak to my mother. Not only about her meddling between my wife and me but also about my alleged brother and the stolen life.

I’m known for being ruthless when doing business, but I’m also always fair. My reputation is pristine, that is what has led me to where I am. My investors know that in every deal I make, I try to make it so everybody wins.

The theory that someone wanted to kill me to avenge personal quarrels is senseless to me. Now it turns out that I supposedly have stolen someone’s life, the worst thing is that I have no idea when that happened.

I pick up the phone and look through my contacts for my mother’s number. I need to get the crucial information I’m looking for regarding my past before I can move on to the discussion about her meddling ways. I know I need to be meticulous with every single word I say.

“Son,” she greets me after answering on the second ring. “How was the party last night? I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

She knows very well why.

“Listen.” I’m not interested in talking about nonsense, much less about the party. “Do you remember if there was another kid like me in the house where I was adopted?”

I hear her gasp on the other end of the line. My mother has no idea what I’m talking about.

“It was an orphanage, Lionel,” she begins. “Of course, there were more children like you there.”

She doesn’t understand me, or I’m not explaining well.

“Do you know if I had a brother or a close relative?” There it is, skipping the chitchat and getting to the nitty-gritty.

“Of course not, that’s why you ended up in that place. Your father and I were desperate to grow our family. After pulling so many strings, the lawyer who was helping us with the adoption process sent us there with a recommendation that was superior. One day we arrived looking for a small baby, but we were introduced to a charming boy with huge brown eyes who sang and danced “Do the Bird” and who was a chatterbox. Your father and I fell in love with you from the first moment.”

Something is fishy here. As a child, I never remember being especially good at getting attention, much less being someone who liked to talk. I had to learn to sing to loosen my tongue…

“But now that you say it,” my mother says after a few seconds of silence. “Anton and I were very concerned when a week later, we went to pick you up and you looked like someone else. Somewhere you lost that energy, you came to us withdrawn, locked up in yourself, and you know well what we had to overcome so that you could speak smoothly. At that time we thought it was because of the changes, but now that you say it… Lionel… what’s going on? Why are you asking me all these strange questions?”

I sigh before answering, it’s best to be careful, at least for now. I don’t want to upset my mother’s nerves in case this doesn’t lead anywhere.

“Don’t worry, it’s just that I feel inquisitive today.”

Closing my eyes for a moment, I can imagine her flattening her mouth into a thin line. My mother knows me well and knows that I’m lying.

“Now, I want you to tell me why you helped Stella get out of the house last night?”

She makes a sound that sounds like she’s half coughing, half gasping. She knows that I’ve asked her directly because I have the information in hand.

I’m not a man who launches accusations without proof.

“You are my son,” she offers those words as an explanation. But they are not enough, in no way can they ever be.

“And I’m also an adult who can make his own decisions.”

I’ve always been careful not to go public with my personal life, because I don’t like the idea of strangers poking their noses into my affairs.

“She wanted to leave,” she babbles, she wants to convince me that this is true. “I just made it easier for her.”

No, dear mother, you aren’t going to get out of this so easily.

“And that’s why you helped her get out before I could talk to her, that’s why you bought two tickets so I couldn’t track her that easily.”

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